ready

just yesterday i was eager for the new year,
enjoying the bubbling excitement of it all.
how naive that seems now.
it’s funny how one day can change a mood.

now i’m ready.
ready to smash plates,
ready to set fire to paper.
ready to watch the words curl up in smoke
rising up to sprinkle ashes on me below.

this year i’ll find a new word for ‘resolution’
this year i’ll make a list of the positives
and write them on the bathroom mirror
this year i’ll let go of the negatives

and simply:
be.
create.
love.

i’m ready

far from perfect

in the beginning of december a friend simultaneously emailed me as i received a comment on my blog. she was inquisitive like me, “who is this? what does this mean?” i had to go investigating to find some answers. i’m such a silly blogging novice.

i found it funny that someone had tagged me with a perfect post award for the month of november. i wasnt’ sure what it meant. a little googling found me here in san franscisco on Fog City Mommy’s blog.

this was a realization of ‘what a small world!’ (which also really warmed my heart at the same time as it led my husband to some forms of his own paranoia) but her comment left me wondering: how did you find me?

more googling of myself (how vain, right?!) linked me to nashville tennessee to find The~Spirit~of~the~River listed on Suburban Turmoil’s blog for a perfect post award (along with a dozen or so other fantastic blogs) for an entry i titled ‘Feels Like Falling’ back in november.

so, i know it’s late coming, but i wanted to thank you both. you ladies, you mommas, you bloggers. whoever you are, i’m glad you enjoyed my words!

slip sliding away

the donning of the skates.
big boy skates, all slippy slidey.
i wonder how he’ll do without those cheesy double runners
that only fit kids size 10 and below.

sweet aqua skates for momma
in preparation for the unexpectedness of finding your sea legs on ice for the first time in over a decade.

river warns me with a smile
‘you might fall down, momma!’
but i don’t, and he holds tightly to me
laughing laughing laughing
he makes old women smile from the side of the rink.

we find our balance
we dance on ice
while ABBA sings from the speakers
“you can dance! you can dance! having the time of your life…”
and Robert Earl Keen reminds me
“feels so good, feeling good again.”

we skate circles

he grips my fingers in his tiny hands
he tilts his head back and smiles
my tallness peers down at him
tinyness in big skates.
my cheeks ache from smiling.

I am I

i first read this idea from Kyra at This Mom
and traced it back to Jennifer over at Pinwheels

it’s a springboard for thought, and such a great outline that i wanted to share it with others. perhaps to get the creative juices flowing? or peek inside yourself in quiet contemplation before the upcoming new year? i held off writing my own I AM poem for a little while, but have finally scratched some words down on paper. it’s a release, as always. you’ll find it at the bottom of this post.

so, for those of you interested, just for fun, or for digging deep down, here’s the template:
I AM (title)

I am (fill in the blank) I am a mother….I am a chef…

I wonder

I hear

I see

I want

I am

I pretend

I feel

I touch

I worry

I sadden

I am

I understand

I dream

I try

I say

I hope

I am

here’s my poem:
I AM I

I am strong.

I wonder, do you see me as i see myself?

I hear my heartbeating in time to music.

I see beauty, i see beauty, i see beauty.

I want love, pure and true.

I am tired, just plain tired.

I pretend not to care about the little things,

I feel the weight of life pressing down on me.

I touch others with words, I hope.

I worry i don’t reach out enough

I sadden easily.

I am a pisces.

I understand nothing,

I dream of everything.

I try to smile,

I say i love you.

I hope that i do.

I am waiting.

where did christmas go?

river sits on my lap as the sun sets.
as the house quiets down before bedtime.

“where did christmas go, momma?”
oh baby.

i kiss his cheek. he’s full of innocence. a sweetness i wish i could bottle and carry around in my pocket for all of eternity. he listens as i whisper to him

‘christmas is the spirit inside of you. like love. it’s how you felt today with all your family, sharing a meal for our christmas feast.’

to him, it was not about the santa. not about the reindeer, the lack of snow, or even the really big firetruck of his dreams. to him it was about the light. and the light is inside of you, river. no matter what anyone else says.

believe.

little tree

i stumbed upon this book through some recommendations and gladly found it at the library this morning. e.e. cummings was my poetic mentor in high school. (leading me to banish all capital letters like a good student should. oh, to be an english major! maybe in my next life.)

be still my heart, this man speaks and writes so fluidly. his thoughts flow like lucid dreaming, like music to my ears. i was in love with his one thought from years ago: “For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.” and i have been searching for him ever since.

anyway, back to seasonal bliss…if you can get your hands on this book Little Tree, it’s quite wonderful for the holiday season, (story and art by chris raschka) inspired by the poem Little Tree by e.e. cummings.

little tree
little silent christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see ~ i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid

look ~ the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out
and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold
the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i’ll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they’ll stare!
oh but you’ll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
‘noel noel’

solstice

solstice :: standing still sun

embrace the darkness

rejoice the light

happy solstice!

faraway family

even when i was a kid, family was far away. different states. different coasts. different time zones. hours of roadtrips just to make it to their door. it made the anticipation stronger. it made the visit more cherished. it made the memories more vivid.

every day for the past two weeks, river has asked “is my nana coming today?” we made a countdown calendar. it’s taped to our fridge door. we’ve been X’ing off the days. “is it the red day that nana comes to my house?”

we welcomed both my brothers who arrived for dinner last night. river was giddy. river was beside himself. river was under the table. river was talking up a storm. river was smitten. i could see him as i was as a kid. memorizing every last detail of this faraway family.

at night he is worrisome while falling asleep, “who is staying?” as if his uncles will vanish into thin air as soon as he closes his eyes. “uncle scott and uncle chris are staying. they’ll sleep in the yurt and we’ll see them again tomorrow.” he is relieved to know he can once again pull out his favorite puzzles and trucks and bite on his finger in little boy bashfulness while in their presence.

today we X’d off the last day on the nana countdown calendar. “my nana is coming tomorrow!” he says with a smile, and then adds for extra confusion, “and pop pop will fly the plane!”

jingle bells!

the music helps with festivities as river persists “sing dashing through the snow!” and we all bust into an off-key version of Jingle Bells. Another request comes two minutes later, “sing over the river and through the woods!” and i make up words to my favorite one-liner of all times. a line to a song, for which i don’t even know the title. i need to google that one lyric and see where it leads me. in my mind, it was the ideal. to be over the river and in the woods adjacent to my own mother by the sea. i wonder if a place like this exists but for in this song. this song without a title in my mind. both of these songs stir much conversation,”what is a sleigh, momma?”

music is filed and sorted by emotion. clinking out “away in a manger” on my auntie bea’s piano at age 8 for her pleasure. i doubt it was even christmas in vermont at that time, but i played it for her nonetheless. silly moments stick out to me but lay buried deep inside until the season arises. until i get my hands on this Sufjan Stevens CD and the egg is cracked open. the sweet song is not about jesus to me. it’s something so much more magical. it’s the chords. it’s the strings it pulls in me. and tonight from my stereo, the final line i never knew as a kid, lingers and brings me to tears. “and love me, i pray.” gosh darnit santa, why am i so sappy?

it’s hard to find music that is meaningful. music that fills your spirit and keeps memories and is not too much of anything. music is powerful. i sat in church as a kid and the music flowed around us in our wooden pews. the sun filtered through the huge stained glass windows of that old stone church. it was magical to me. it was something sacred . to me, the deacon’s daughter. the deacon who was raised by her new england universalist minister father. the deacon who taught me that some people see god in a tree and that you don’t need a church to feel your soul. church was a beautiful place of mystery to me. it was a social gathering to me as a kid. it was not jesus or the blood in his veins. it was better than that. it was the story. it was the words that people put to music.

music was seasonal. year after year of symphony practice. filing onto the empty stage at chrysler hall with the red curtain closed. tuning up our woodwinds in the cold of december year after year. black velvet skirts, folding chairs, and music stands. handel’s messiah echoing and moving around us as we sit face to face with the audience. as they feel what they feel because of the music we produce. music is powerful. i took it for granted at the time. i look back on it now and i’m so thankful for all those years i sat on stage bloodletting the music out of my pores.

through music and words we store memories. my grammy’s belly laughter as i dance and prance as a snarky teenager, sliding in barefeet across the kitchen floor just to make her laugh. i fall on my knees singing her favorite line from ‘oh holy night’ you know the predictable one that calls for drama: ‘fall on your knees, oh hear the angels voices!” i put this song on repeat and think of this moment everytime. and i will continue to do so until the day i die. this song is her song. it’s our song together.

this year i will be sad for the holidays to pass, if just for this cd. i love it that much. i’m glad for those memories it brings me, for they are mine alone. i cherish them. i am sad that they will never be replayed but i am thankful that new memories ar being built today. piled ontop like warm quilts and down blankets adding love and warmth to each of us.

merry

maybe it’s the cold nights or the anticipation of family arrivals. maybe it’s the quiet hours of night after river has gone to bed. maybe it’s the chance for a second start with the upcoming year. but right now i think it’s the dimly lit living room and the tree glowing from the corner. it’s filling my spirit.

it was slow coming this year. maybe because the decorations have been in our faces since halloween, and temperatures in the 80’s all but melted my eagerness for festivities. i was in quiet resistance of the commercialism just like every year. but this weekend, the magic of the season arrived.

i want to give in to happiness, here and now. for some reason the cynic in me stands with arms crossed, waiting for the jinx. waiting for the bad news or the bad luck to shake a sorry head at. always waiting for the disaster to strike. i don’t know how to change this in me. the never quite giving in completely to the happiness and love. i’m not quite sure how to change that, but to continue filtering out the bad and welcoming the good. and it seems that there is more good than bad. it feels that the scales are tipping.

yesterday, i learned that kenny has never been ice skating. in all his 38 years, never once ice skating. in my 12 years of knowing this man, i never knew this single fact. i was caught in disbelief. shocked. how could this be? something i remember from my childhood so fondly. stepping out gingerly onto the frozen lake with mittens and earmuffs. the slippy silly unpredictability of the ice. the laughter bubbling up to the surface of my soul. the freedom of gliding on smooth ice. the cold wind, the red nose, the stone fireplaces positioned nearby, the steaming cup of cocoa. it’s all been romanticized in my mind i’m sure. but why can’t i experience this again as an adult? what can’t i share this with my son and husband? the more people tell me i don’t want to live in a cold climate, the more i stubbornly resist this truth that is most likely true. i stomp and whine, ‘don’t tell me how i feel!’ but the truth is: i don’t like to be cold. but i’m in mourning for my cold childhood and i don’t know how to remedy that.

in all my fondness of childhood memories, my happiness mixed with sadness for kenny. i must take him ice skating! this texas born man. my son will also become a texas born man one day. i am determined to take them both ice skating. luck has it that every christmas season, the rooftop of Whole Foods becomes an ice skating rink. i hope that we find ourselves there next week, overlooking the city, pretending to be in rockafeller center.